


Cats in the crimson field

by thecurlymop



Category: The Crimson Field
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Kittens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-04
Updated: 2014-05-10
Packaged: 2018-04-06 20:09:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4234983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecurlymop/pseuds/thecurlymop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter and Flora find a cat and her kittens hidden in the storage area and decide to look after them...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I did some research and apparently it was quite common for cats to live in the trenches with the soldiers so adding cats to the field hospital wasn't entirely ridiculous

Peter had simply whispered that he had something to show her when she had a moment and to come and find him in the mess. That on its own was enough to pique her curiosity and as soon as she could, she went and found him. She was so relieved that he had decided to forgive her for their conversation in the woods but also that he seemed to be following her advice and wasn’t being so obvious when he sneaked off to the dunes. She’d only seen him once and he could easily have been out collecting wood or checking his snares anyway. It was nice to be back on speaking terms with him and now he was sharing a secret with her! How exciting!

 

When she entered the mess, Peter got up and met her, giving her a conspiratorial grin and indicated the tent flap closest to them.

‘It’s outside, or rather, I should say they’re outside.’

He refused to give any further clues despite her indignant exclamation that he couldn’t just leave her hanging in suspense and her best efforts to pry the information out of him. Captain Gillan had said just the week before that her chatter was more effective than some torture instruments he’d read about but Peter was clearly immune by now which was most inconvenient. Peter led her towards the storage crates, an area she was fairly sure they weren’t supposed to be in and they slipped through a tiny gap in the crates to where a single box was tucked away, the lid slightly raised and scratched.

‘If it weren’t for the fact that Soper’s so fat, I reckon they’d have been discovered by now. I was just down here the other night…’ he flushed slightly and turned away from her and she didn’t need to ask what he’d been doing, ‘and I heard some squeaking so I slipped through and saw them.’

 

He lifted the lid and they were met with the accusing stare of a skinny cat with three bundles of fur attached to her side. Kitty clapped her hand to her mouth to muffle the shriek she could feel rising to her mouth.

‘Peter! Kittens! I love kittens! What are they doing here and what can we do to help them?’

Peter hid a grin. He’d had a feeling this was the final peace offering he could give Flora to signal that he wanted their argument to be completely forgotten and he’d been right. Flora was now on her knees, ignoring the dust that would be marking her skirt, and cooing happily at the kittens. The cat was regarding her steadily and had apparently decided that Flora wasn’t threatening enough to bother about.

‘They’re so small and she’s so skinny,’ exclaimed Flora, ‘can we give her some food?’

‘Already thought of that,’ Peter produced an unidentifiable chunk of meat from his pocket and unwrapped it, smirking at the cat as her head shot up as the scent of food washed over her. Peter put the food down near her head and watched as she gently dislodged her offspring and moved to start eating, ignoring the indignant squeaks this move provoked. One was squeaking more than the others and Flora moved to pick it up, looking cautiously towards the mother to see if she would allow this. The tiny bundle fitted in the palm of her hand and she stroked it softly, feeling the fragility beneath the soft fluffy fur. She watched as it sniffed carefully and stretched, squeaking all the time.

 

The mother finished eating and greeted Peter, nudging his outstretched hand and allowing him to stroke along her back before she returned to her children, Flora hastily putting the kitten she had been holding back where it had come from and watching the mother examine it before licking gently over its head and settling down again. The kittens wriggled blindly, seeking the warmth of their mother and Peter and Flora stood, moving slowly away so they didn’t startle her.

They looked down, watching as the mother yawned and tucked her head down, clearly preparing to rest.

‘What shall we call her?’ Flora asked. ‘Do you think we can keep them?’

Peter sighed. ‘I don’t know if we can keep them although I know that there are cats being kept as mascots down in the trenches – one of my patients was rambling on the other day. I was thinking, there’s a mark on her fur that’s sort of butterfly shaped…’

Flora looked where he was pointing and sure enough, a butterfly shaped mark was visible, especially if you squinted and turned your head.

‘…So I was thinking maybe Butterfly?’

‘I like it but I think she’s a French cat. She has an air of nonchalance that no English cat could carry off. What about Papillon? It means the same thing but I think it gives her some French sophistication.’ She smiled. ‘It suits her don’t you think?’

‘Papillon it is then.’

The cat shut her eyes and her ear twitched. They left, slipping through the crates and back into the real world, grinning at the thought of having a secret that no-one else knew.


	2. Chapter 2

They took turns sneaking food to Papillon and discovered that she had an amazing appetite and she quickly began to put on weight which relieved Flora, she’d been worried that Papillon wouldn’t be strong enough to look after all three kittens but it seemed that they were surviving quite well. They managed a week of sneaking rations before Flora got found out. Of course it was Kitty, who sees everything and very rarely comments on it, who asked Flora curiously what she was doing with the food she’d been sneaking out. Flora decided to let her in on the secret. One more person couldn’t hurt could it, and Kitty was very good at keeping secrets – Flora barely knew anything about her life before becoming a VAD, just that she was glad to be out of England.

Kitty melted at the sight of the kittens, just as Flora had known she would and Papillon took a shine to Kitty too, allowing her to tickle behind her ears for much longer than Flora was ever permitted to. By then the kittens had opened their eyes although according to the animal encyclopedia Flora had managed to borrow from the Colonel, they couldn’t really see things properly yet and that was clear from the way they staggered on little stumpy legs into the sides of the crate as if they were continually tipsy. Flora and Kitty spent quite a while with the cats, laughing happily before realising that they should probably get back to their duties.

 

Peter wasn’t too pleased that Kitty had been let in on their secret but Flora pointed out that it was less suspicious if there were more of them sneaking food out and he gave in. It’s not as if he could do anything about it anyway.

 

The kittens started becoming a lot more playful and as they were wandering about a few days later, Flora asked Kitty, who had become a daily visitor as well, whether she thought they should have names yet. They all had different markings which meant that they’d always been able to tell them apart but now they were starting to develop distinct personalities and Flora had already started thinking up names for them.

One was almost completely white with a grey patch over his ear and a grey tail. He was the boldest of the three, always wandering the furthest from his mother on his tiny legs but still running back to her at the slightest noise.

His sisters were a lot less adventurous. The pale tortoiseshell one would play with her brother but preferred to sleep while their sister stuck close to their mother at all times. That kitten was an almost carbon copy of her mother, mainly white with a few dark and ginger patches though none that formed recognisable marks like Papillon’s butterfly yet.

By then the kittens were about four weeks old and were enjoying being more independent and inquisitive. They would happily curl up on someone’s lap while Papillon trotted off to catch a mouse or two – now she wasn’t stuck with her kittens all the time, she was less reliant on their food donations though she still happily wolfed them down. She’d started feeding the kittens some of her catches too and on this developed diet they were growing stronger and quicker than ever.

 

It was inevitable that they got discovered eventually and when it happens, it was of course the fault of the male kitten, who had been testing his boundaries for several days. Although they couldn’t watch over him all the time, Papillon was pretty good at keeping him from wandering out of the maze of crates and into the camp itself. Papillon’s appearance had been unremarked in the hospital, there were normally cats hanging around, displaced from their homes and hunting in the woods. But kittens actually living in the camp were another matter and they’d been hoping to conceal them for longer. However, the adventurous kitten was too curious and one day when Papillon is off hunting and Kitty was playing with the kittens, he slipped past her and the next thing she knew she heard a familiar voice.

‘Well hello there. What are you doing in these parts?’

It was Miles and she released a sigh of relief that it wasn’t Sister Quayle or Soper.

She stuck her head out and hissed, ‘Miles! In here!’

There wasn’t much room but he slipped through, holding the purring kitten and looked startled to find two others with Kitty.

‘Well this is unexpected. Are you raising kittens as a side job or like me have you just stumbled on them?’

‘I suppose you could call them Flora’s, Peter – Foley I mean – found them and he and Flora had been looking after them and when I found out, I helped too. No-one else knows.’

He put the kitten down and smiled as he rubbed up against his boots.

‘He’s a nice little fellow, are these his sisters?’ he asked, indicating the others, one curled up in Kitty’s lap and the other in the box.

‘Yes, their mother’s off hunting. They don’t have names yet but she’s called Papillon because of a marking on her side I think. We’re having trouble thinking of names for them, so any suggestions are appreciated really.’

Miles settled next to her and they spent the next few minutes playing with the boy before he tired and curled himself up on Miles’ shoulder as he leant against a crate.

‘We’re not sure what to do about them actually,’ Kitty confided, ‘I mean Papillon is a pretty good hunter but the kittens are still quite young. Every day it’s getting riskier to keep them here, imagine if it had been Quayle instead of you… but we don’t really know what the rules are about pets here.

He shrugged. ‘I’m not sure there are any. I can’t see them doing any harm, they might actually help some of the patients, we’d just have to check with the Colonel. I like this little man, I might adopt him if he hasn’t already adopted me!’

The kitten on his shoulder was more relaxed than Kitty had ever seen him, he clearly liked Miles.

Just then Papillon came back and she greeted Kitty before coming over to Miles. He stroked her and she lay happily between Miles and Kitty, accepting their occasional strokes before moving off to the box and demanding the return of her children with an impatient yowl. Kitty hastily handed over hers before helping Miles as he removed his. They watched the kittens curl up next to their mother and exchanged grins.

‘I’ll talk to the Colonel in private. I’m sure it’ll be fine.’

Kitty sighed in relief. It had been lucky that Miles had discovered the secret really, she didn’t know how else they’d have tackled the problem of what to do now the kittens were expanding their territory.


	3. Chapter 3

Within a few weeks, the cats were an established part of hospital life. Once the Colonel had met them, he agreed that they could be moved out of their maze of boxes and into the VADs tent – luckily none of them were allergic to cats, though Rosalie was annoyed at being kept out of the secret. The cats roamed freely around the hospital, they were only banned from the operating theatres but they quickly learnt where they were most welcome.

The Colonel, having learnt that they were unnamed, had asked for the privilege of naming them and came up with Greek deities which he felt most represented their qualities. The shy tortie was called Hestia after the goddess of hearth and home, the other female, Athena, because she had a wise air about her and the boy was called Ares after he viciously killed a feather much to the amusement of the watching people. Miles secretly called him Tarzan though and as the kitten had adopted him completely, pretty soon the whole hospital called him that.

 

Papillon was often to be found curled up in the shade by the mess tent, ignoring the soldiers around her and stalking away if they got too close. She accepted caresses from only a few people, those who had found her and those with authority, meaning Matron and the Colonel. She seemed to know that they had the power to allow her to live happily in the hospital and so gave them the respect they deserved. Much to everyone’s amusement, she and Sister Quayle hated one another and avoided ever being in the same room.

 

Sister Quayle had been the one objector in all of this, claiming that the cats were a waste of food better given to people but she had been quashed rapidly as the Colonel pointed out that since Papillon’s arrival, the amount of food that had been damaged by mice had dropped hugely and that anyway, the cats were perfectly happy eating scraps from the kitchen and hunting for themselves. The sister had tried banning the cats from the wards but that hadn’t lasted long, the patients liked having them around and would bribe them in with treats and lavish affection on them. A particular favourite was Hestia as she was happy to just curl up on a lap and stay there, radiating warmth and comfort. Tarzan spent most of his time with Miles and while he was still small enough, would travel in his pocket, head sticking out and enjoying the view as Miles strode around doing his duties. His favourite place to curl up was still Miles’ neck and Thomas had often had to stifle a laugh when he’d discovered Miles with Tarzan draped across him, both sleeping deeply and occasionally snoring.

Athena was an altogether more aloof kitten. She very rarely went into the wards, preferring to spend her time with the off duty VADs and also hunting. She was soon a better mouser than her mother and would often spend whole days out in the woods chasing birds and rabbits that were still far too big for her to actually catch.

She adopted Kitty as her favourite human and once she realised that Kitty and Thomas spent a lot of time together, she developed an affection for him which was baffling to all. Thomas had no time for her and would frequently tip her off chairs and beds when he discovered her. In spite of all of this, she would worm her way onto his lap in the evening, only to be swiftly ejected as soon as she had settled. Miles couldn’t understand it until he came back to the tent late at night and discovered not only Tarzan waiting on his bed but Athena curled up on Thomas’ chest with his hand placed protectively over her slim back. Thomas obviously tolerated her far more when no-one was looking.

 


	4. Chapter 4

It was clear to everyone that Tarzan considered Miles to be his very own climbing post. When travelling in Miles’ tunic pocket, he would often attempt to scale the thick woollen cloth, using the leather belts as footholds and inevitably he would get his claws stuck. Miles would then be found, standing in the middle of the path, trying to unhook the kitten while it wailed it’s upset to anyone who would listen.

The day finally arrived though, when Tarzan had grown too big to fit in the pocket and his attempts to balance on Miles’ shoulder only ended in disaster. To Tarzan’s dismay, his time travelling on Miles was over. He would sit and sulk in the tent, hissing at anyone who wasn’t Thomas or Miles and causing chaos in the usually fairly tidy area. His attempts to scale the back of the chair left him sprawled out underneath it, hissing furiously. Of course, knocking over the chair could cause problems in such a small space and Miles and Tom learnt quickly that leaving anything slightly breakable out would cause breakages. Tarzan would stalk across the desks, swishing anything in his path out of the way, he had hurt his paw while bashing at Thomas’ typewriter and it was only because the thing was undamaged that Thomas had consented to bandage the yowling cat while Miles held him wrapped in a blanket to avoid flailing paws. Both men had scars from that particular danger which the VADs laughingly referred to as their ‘battle wounds’.

When Tarzan had caused enough damage for the day, he would slink under Miles’ bed to await his return and greet him with scratches to the ankles – marring the shine on his boots horribly. It was because of this that he discovered a new past time. Miles had left his scratched boots and was wearing his second pair – with much muttering about how uncomfortable they were. The damaged ones were left, neatly together at the foot of the bed where Tarzan discovered them a few hours later. He had already torn up most of the paper he had found inside them to help them keep their shape and with that scattered across the bed, when he heard the footsteps of one of the returning captains, he leapt into one of the boots. Miles, striding into the tent, expecting the usual greeting ankle swipes and not wanting to damage another pair of boots, kept well away from the bed, only to let out what would later be termed ‘a manly yelp’ as both boots fell into his path and he tripped over them, watching in disbelief as Tarzan unfolded himself from inside the left one and sauntered away. The resulting bruise from where he had hit the floor had amused Thomas greatly and Miles was not best pleased when the VADs asked to see his latest battle wound. Thomas, for once in his life hadn’t kept his mouth shut and Kitty hadn’t either…

 

 

 

The first thing Kitty hears that morning is an angry Scottish voice. It’s not unusual for Thomas to shout but what he’s shouting makes her hurry a little.

‘You damn cat! You did that on purpose! I needed that paper and now I’ll have to wait until a new delivery comes!’

She comes round the corner and sees Tom yelling at a serene Athena, licking her paws in the sunlight while Miles sniggers in the background, cradling a purring Tarzan.

‘You!’ Thomas turns on her, ‘your damn cat has shredded my typewriter paper and now what am I supposed to do?’

Kitty shrugs. ‘She’s not my cat actually. And if you didn’t want her playing with your things you should have put them away better. Cats are inquisitive and she’s good at getting what she wants.’

With that, she scoops up Athena and takes her to the mess, leaving Thomas gaping behind her.

‘Well she told you, my friend.’

Thomas scowls. ‘She’s supposed to be on my side, not on the side of that blasted animal.’

‘You like that blasted animal really. I’ve seen you with her when you think no-one’s looking and so has Kitty. You know it was your fault really, just as Kitty said.’

Thomas has no real reply ready. Miles saunters off and Thomas swears that Tarzan winks at him over his shoulder.

 

Athena doesn’t stay out of trouble for long.

The camp is roused at about 6 in the morning by unearthly horrified shrieks coming from Sister Quayle’s hut. To the amusement of some of the nurses, sleepily poking their heads out of the tents, she appears at her door brandishing a small furry corpse and shouting at Athena who slinks sedately from the hut until Sister Quayle’s foot connects with her side and she scarpers.

‘That… horrible animal,’ spits Sister Quayle, quivering in anger, ‘She put a dead thing on my pillow and then sat there waiting for me to wake up. How on earth did she get in and why would she do such a disgusting thing?’

By now the nurses are laughing so hard that their tents are practically quivering and even the Colonel, who has come to see what all the fuss is about, is hiding a smile.

Sister Quayle does look rather silly in her frilled nightgown brandishing a dead shrew in front of her. Matron comes to the rescue, looking sternly at the onlookers who disperse rapidly, and guiding the upset sister inside, making her drop the corpse as she goes.

‘There, there, Margaret, the cat didn’t mean anything, I’ve heard that in fact it’s a sign of affection but if you want to make sure she doesn’t do it again I would suggest keeping your window shut overnight for a few weeks so she realises it’s no longer an options and tries somewhere else. How about you take the morning off to calm down from the shock and I’ll tell the VADs to keep a closer eye on those animals.’

The last bit is said more with the aim of calming Margaret than with any real intention behind it. Grace knows perfectly well that the cats can’t be controlled but the idea seems to have worked on Margaret at least. She is breathing less rapidly and has returned to a pinkish colour rather than the crimson of before. Grace gives her hand one last squeeze and heads off to her morning duties, hoping that the cats won’t cause any more trouble, she rather likes having them around, especially the mother who has taken to curling up on her lap when she embroiders in the evenings. It’s very restful and she likes having the company.

 

Sister Quayle doesn’t stop there though. That afternoon she corners Kitty outside the operating tent, presumably thinking they were enough out of the way for no-one to hear her but of course she doesn’t think of the people inside the tent.

Kitty is stooped down talking to Papillon and the first sign she gets that the sister is near is Papillon abruptly getting up and walking away in the middle of the conversation. Kitty turns, wondering why, and sees the angry nurse bearing down on her. Kitty had of course heard about that morning’s drama but as she had been off on a morning stroll with Thomas, she hadn’t been there to witness it herself. As Sister Quayle broke into a litany of complaints about the cats, the whole operating tent went silent, braced for an explosion from Tom once he realised who Quayle was attacking. It didn’t come. Instead Kitty exploded.

‘You silly woman! Cats do that sometimes, it’s not malicious, it’s just in their nature. If you don’t want them to come into your room then fine, shut the door and window and be grateful you don’t live in a tent like the rest of us! It was one tiny little shrew and I know for a fact that you kicked her when she was already running away which means that now she’ll be cowering under someone’s bed, probably mine, in terror until I go and find her and calm her down. You inflicted pain on an innocent animal and for that alone I can never respect you again.’

Sister Quayle is silent and in the listening tent, grins are exchanged. Thomas has a proud look on his face as he listens to Kitty standing up for herself and Miles realises that his face must have borne a similar look when Thomas had stood up to Yelland. They hear hard footsteps walking quickly away and a shaky exhale of breath from Kitty before Thomas is heading quickly to the half open tent flap. He half turns and before he can ask Miles answers, ‘don’t worry, I’ll look after the rest of the op. Make sure she’s ok and give her a pat on the back from me.’

There’s a chorus of support for that from everyone else and Thomas grins appreciatively. They hear him say her name gently before Miles loudly says, ‘show’s over folks, let’s get on with what we were doing.’ The least he can do is get them some privacy.

 

Outside the tent, Kitty is shaking from the adrenaline of having faced up to the dreaded Sister Quayle and Thomas is trying to calm her down with very little success. He grabs her hand and begins towing her back to the tents. There’s no way she can be on duty like this and he’s got Miles subbing for him so there’s nothing to worry about but her. He realises a little too late that they’re heading towards his tent but reasons that if they keep the flap open no-one can say anything. Everyone knows that something’s happening between them and he doesn’t want to leave her alone. She sits on the chair he pulls out for her as if her knees have given out and he finds her a glass of water before perching on the end of his camp bed, wincing as the springs creak. She sips her water and to his relief she seems to be shaking less.

‘Thank you,’ she says eventually, looking up at him. ‘I don’t know why I did that, it was pretty stupid.’

He smirks, ‘I bet it felt good though, and she had no right to speak to you like that. The cats aren’t your responsibility and she’s just vindictive.’

He hopes his support helps her feel better, he knows all the men who heard from in the tent supported her too and he tells her so. She laughs at that.

‘Were you all glued to the tent walls in silence?’

When he nods she laughs harder and he thinks she’s never looked more beautiful. Her eyes glint and dance and her smile is blinding as she looks at him.

He looks at her. His eyes dart to her lips and she’s not smiling any more. He leans towards her, giving her plenty of time to pull away before his hand comes up to her cheek and then their lips meet. Once, twice, gently. Just the press of their lips together sends shivers down his spine. He pulls back and she is smiling again.

‘I’ve been waiting for you to do that,’ she says softly.

Athena appears from under Tom’s bed, slinking towards Kitty and mewing pathetically, begging to be picked up.

He smiles. ‘She timed that well,’ he jokes.

‘I think she’s been plotting to get us alone for a while. I haven’t exactly been against it.’

With the cat held tightly to her chest it’s awkward trying to kiss her again but he’s willing to give it a go. He thinks that the sooner they get used to working around the cats the better really.


End file.
